Tenderfoot
by BullShitSheep
Summary: [Human AU] (Skeleton Dance) Hater is a renowned tattoo artist, while Wander is a bum playing for change in front of his shop. Hater's a little more drawn to the musician than he would expect.


Chapter 1

Sinister Kid

The heat was unbearable. Granted, in Florida, the heat was usually unbearable, but today it was especially bad. Even with sweat rolling down the back of his neck, Hater refused to remove his leather jacket. Decked out in full on biker gear, it was easy to start sweating up a storm under the intense sun, but Hater refused to give up his reputation. He removed his helmet, enjoying the bit of wind that hit his warm face. Making sure his bike was parked perfectly in place, he turned towards his workplace: Harbingers of Doom Tattoo Shop. He'd owned the little shop for almost six years now. It'd been a long six years, but so worth it.

Hater turned the key, opening up the door and stepping inside the empty building. He flipped on the lights, turning the sign around in the door so that it read "open". He threw his helmet behind the counter while grabbing the log book. If he remembered correctly, he had an appointment today to do a gruesome-looking skull and flames. He smiled at the thought. Today was going to be a good day.

xXx

By the time 8 o'clock came around, the other workers had filed into their respected cubicles in the back. The cushioned seats lining the walls in the front of the shop were filled with people waiting to be inked. Hater stood at the register eyeballing them all, playing his game where he tried to guess what they would ask for. His appointment didn't intend to show up until later that afternoon, so he had some time to kill.

For being the greatest tattoo artist ever, he didn't get many customers. His colleagues told him it was because he gave off such an uninviting demeanor. Probably didn't help that he went by his nickname… It also probably didn't help that he never smiled… Not to mention he was 6 feet tall with a shaved head… Whatever, it was their loss if they didn't want a tattoo from the most talented tattoo artist in this whole city. Gave him more time to plan more of his own…

A couple of girls sitting down started giggling loudly, which attracted Hater's attention. They were pointing out the window, so naturally his eyes followed their direction. He could barely make out a mop or ginger hair, topped by a bright green beanie. Oh, great, a loitering hippie. He rolled his eyes, choosing to ignore the incident. He usually liked to chase those kinds of people off, but they were pretty crowded now, and he wasn't comfortable leaving the register alone for two long.

"Hater, I forgot to tell you." A man who only reached Hater's chest in height walked up to him. Hater looked down into the man's one eye, since the other was covered by an eye-patch. "There was a call when you left yesterday. They asked for you specifically, left a name and number." The man dug around his pockets for a minute before pulling out a stickie note that had been folded a few times. "I told them you specialize in skulls."

"Mh, good." Hater took the sticky note, feeling a bit of excitement enter his mind. He always enjoyed doing skull tattoos, even if he'd done over a thousand by now. "Good job, Peepers," he mumbled to the man, who then nodded and walked away. Hater glanced over the number, recognizing the area code. He didn't want to call them back, so he'd wait and see if the same number called again.

He looked up, seeing Peepers talking to the girls that had giggled before. Hater wasn't sure if they had actually scheduled with him, or if he was just hitting on them, but either way Hater hoped they had a horrible time. They were probably here to get some stupid anchor on their leg or something. He glared at them as they followed Peepers towards the back. Stupid anchor girls… He looked back at the place they'd been sitting, which now left a big open spot in front of the window. Hater realized that guy from earlier was still sitting out there. Hater could see him better now, and saw that his hair reached the top of his shoulders. It looked absolutely disgusting, like it hadn't been brushed in years. The guy was wearing some old ratty green t-shirt that Hater could only see the back of. He looked like he was moving or doing something… Hater leaned over the counter a little, trying to figure out what this dumb ass hippie was doing outside his shop. Before he could really get a good look, the door opened. Hater looked up, recognizing the man as his appointment for today. He waved him over towards the counter, pulling out the sketch he'd done for him. He pushed the hippie out of his mind, assuming he'd be gone by the time he finished this job.

xXx

A few hours later Hater emerged from the back. His client had left about twenty minutes ago, and he'd just finished cleaning up his station. He decided he deserved a much-needed smoke break, and told Ron to keep an eye on the register. She waved him off, mumbling and nodding while reading a magazine. It was good enough for him, so he swung open the door and stepped outside. The heat had died down now that it was later in the day, and it felt almost pleasant in the shade of the building. He pulled out a cigarette and his lighter, glancing around him as he did so. The minute he lit a flame, his eyes fell on the man sitting beside him. It was the hippie he'd seen through the glass. Hater was a little jarred by seeing him, mostly because the man was staring straight up at him.

The man was smiling the dopiest grin Hater had ever seen. Now that he was seeing him in full, Hater realized he was holding a banjo. He must've been playing it earlier… There was a small can at his feet filled with change. No wonder he'd been there all day; they've been busier today than they'd been in weeks. Hater was too busy staring at the guy's stick legs sticking out his cargo shorts to notice he'd said something.

"What?" Hater lifted his eyes then, catching the other man's own.

"I said, hiya friend! I don't believe we've met before. I go by the name Wander." He was leaning on the banjo in his lap, still smiling like a big loser.

"What kind of a name is Wander?" Hater didn't really have room to talk.

"Well, see, it's just my nickname, 'cause of what I do. My real name ain't nothing special, so I usually just tell folks to call me Wander instead." He had a yellow star pin on his hat. Hater stared at it. "Do you work at this shop? I've been watching people come out of there all day and I gotta say, they do some great work in there. I've been asking folks to show me what they got and I'm blown away by every single one! The people are all so happy about their new tattoo, it's just great. You guys put a lot of love into those works of art and I think that's the best thing."

"I _own_ this shop," Hater finally forced out, just desperate to shut the guy up. God, he _sounded_ like a hippie, the way he talked about things. Hater took a drag from his cigarette, shooting the deadliest glare he could at the guy.

"Oh wow! You_ own_ this place? That's amazing!" Wander started to stand up then, swinging his banjo over so it was on his back. "Do you also do some of the work? Did you do any of them today? Which ones? Did you do those swell anchors those nice girls got earlier?"

"No!" Hater felt his glare fall, being replaced by shock and disgust.

"How about that big eagle that one fella got?"

"Of course not! That's so…"

"What about the great looking sun that girl got on her ankle?"

"Overdone! That's completely idiotic! I'd never do work so… stupid."

"Well then what about that crazy looking skull with all the fire?"

Hater was about to yell no again, when he realized that one was actually right.

"Yes. _That_ was the true masterpiece done today. The best tattoo I've done so far. Much better than all those other ones…" He blew smoke out at the thought of the anchors.

"Oh _wow_! You did the skull? I have got to say, you are _great_ at your job. That was an absolutely beautiful tattoo!" Wander threw his arms all over when talking, a smile seemingly glued to his face. Hater frowned.

"Beautiful? I think you mean it looked sick, or maybe killer. I'd never describe it with a dumb word like _beautiful_."

"Oh but it was! I think all tattoos are beautiful, but yours was something special. You're a real artist… Oh, please forgive me, I never got your name." Wander leaned towards him with an expectant expression. Hater stared at him with his mouth open.

"Wha," he sputtered for a moment, throwing down his finished cigarette and stomping on it with his boot. "What do you care about tattoos anyways? Your skin's probably as bare as the day you were born."

"Actually!" Wander laughed, turning a bit to show Hater his back. He lifted up the back of his hair so his neck could be seen. "I got a few actually, but this here was my first one." Hater could see a couple of simple black stars peeking out from his shirt collar, following up the back of his neck into his hairline. Hater cringed.

Wander was about to say more, but Hater cut him off.

"No, that's all I need to see. You're just like I expected; all those dumb, girly looking tattoos. I can't believe I even wasted my time talking to you. Get off my street." Hater swung the door open, walking briskly back into the shop. He went into the back, in case Wander tried to enter the front of the store to continue talking to him. He grabbed some paper to sketch, deciding to spend the rest of the day hiding out in the back of the shop. Peepers looked confused, but didn't question him. Hater would have to yell at him for actually giving those girls anchors on their ankles… Ugh, just the thought made his head hurt. He scribbled furiously, drawing tons of skulls that burned from the eyes.

xXx

Once the store had closed for the day, all the workers gone except for Hater and Peepers, Hater finally emerged from the back. He peeked through the window, letting out a sigh of relief when he saw nobody outside. He left through the door with something like joy in his step, slipping on his helmet with ease. Peepers waved goodbye at him through the window, but Hater ignored him. He revved the motorcycle, smiling behind his visor at the engine roaring. Today hadn't gone as well as he had thought, but tomorrow would probably be better. Probably. Hater kept telling himself that as he started the drive home. Tomorrow would be better. Better and hippie free.

* * *

><p>So I've never really published much fanfiction wise... I usually keep to myself, but I figured I might as well start putting stuff up so I'm contributing. I only do it for fun, so sorry if my writing is not fantastic or anything. A big thank you to my love for correcting my awful grammar. The song used for the title is Sinister Kid by The Black Keys -BS<p> 


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